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Literature Text
Take me from the world tonight
hold me in your guarded heart
make me forget the world tonight
I can't bear to be apart.
My mind is spinning and I can't fight
the words that cloud my heart
only your warm arms can fight
the words wanting to pull us apart.
When we're alone I know we're right
you breathe the beat of my heart
the way you hold me says I'm right
that we'll never truly be apart.
hold me in your guarded heart
make me forget the world tonight
I can't bear to be apart.
My mind is spinning and I can't fight
the words that cloud my heart
only your warm arms can fight
the words wanting to pull us apart.
When we're alone I know we're right
you breathe the beat of my heart
the way you hold me says I'm right
that we'll never truly be apart.
Literature
Alzheimer's
His house is made of crumbling slats
of rotted knotted oak
peeling paint
and weakened joints.
The wind blows unfettered
through unshuttered apertures
dragging fresh sunlight in
and memories away.
Even on the clearest days
he visits the front porch
less and less often.
He prefers to explore
those rooms further in
where tide and time have yet to reach.
Literature
anemic, broken, and growing up anyway
when my sister was five, she dictated a letter to me in her strong little voice
while dust drifted in the sunshine
of our creaky old room.
dear me [she said],
barney is the best. i will wear blue all the time even though i'm a girl. my heart beats without me telling it to and that's pretty cool. i think people always feel better if you tell them you love them. i will always smile because i have dimples when i smile.
love,
me.
"did you write it?" she asked, and i told her i did, every word
with the chunky yellow pencil i'd fished out of my school bag.
i handed her the letter, and she folded it up carefully
and she smiled.
when my s
Literature
couldn't blue
i draw a picture of
tomorrow morning:
a man in a silver box sells
75 cent coffee and bad bagels.
his shirt is the kind of blue no one ever
tried to name a crayon after.
dust-plastic blue,
tried to love you
(couldn't)
blue.
and the morning is that same color,
the color of canned lightning-bugs and
unfiltered cigarettes and desire,
because that is all you
draw with couldn't blue.
i pay him 1.25 in change and purse-lint
so that a fourth-world factory can make more
silver boxes to sell more things
more stale blueberry muffins.
and he will keep gathering change
in 75 cent purse-lint increments
in the small sinking townships of
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Ever want to just curl up and let someone's homeness wash over you and find your center again?.... and then go and write a dorky poem instead. XD yeah. hopefully it's not to horribly bad. cheers, y'all.
© 2006 - 2024 FRBRkitty
Comments9
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I like your endword repetition here. It allows you to evoke the cuteness of rhyme without a lot of the singsongy clicheness of perfect rhyming poetry. Still, the images you use are mostly cliche. I really challenge you to express yourself more uniquely; that will make your poems supermemorable and stuff. *grin*